Factlets
by Scarfy
Summary: Do you know that most people who win the lottery commit suicide with in the year? April loved insignificant little truths like those. To her, these small, tiny little factlets or so she called them proved something about human nature. [1stspeedrent]


**Title: Factlets  
Author: AC  
Feedback: Love.  
Pairing: Roger/April  
Word Count: Alot.  
Rating: PG-13  
Genre: Humor/Angst  
Notes: Very weird little story.  
Spoilers: N/A  
Warnings: Hyper!April.  
Disclaimer: Don't own rent.**

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Do you know that most people who win the lottery commit suicide with in the year?

April loved insignificant little truths like those. To her, these small, tiny little factlets (or so she called them) proved something or another about human nature. Then again, April was a puzzle waiting to be solved. That's what Roger loved about her. At first, she was merely a project, like all other groupies that he brought home. She was a unknown he wanted to decipher. As soon as he could figure her out, he would cast her away like forgotten toy. And then Roger would search for another puzzle, another toy he could figure out and eventually throw away as well. Roger's like a discontented monkey in that way. In fact, Roger's like a discontented monkey in many ways. But this is supposed to be about April.

But something about April that stuck. When ever Roger thought he knew her all the way, inside and out, a new part of her was there. Frustrated but excited and ready for the challenge, Roger would attempt to figure that certain part out. As soon as he did, there was a new level. If anyone ever said that April was shallow, they were a terrible lair. Five seconds with the girl, and there was something you just wanted to know about her.

She was electricity- a key to a locked door, a new chapter to the finished book, light in a dark corner. And to add to this list, the puzzle unsolved. But she was also a drug, Roger was as addicted to her as he was addicted to smack. He needed her. He needed to complete this puzzle; this confusing girl that he was interested in, liked, and then loved. It was too easy to figure out each layer, too easy to fall to each consecutive part of her. He was drowning in her, falling into the bottomless pit that was her. He could never accept the fact that he would never to able to completely figure her out. He never will.

Between the night that Roger brought her home and her death, April never went home. She was just...there. She must have not i had /I any stuff, or didn't need it, because she never left the loft to go collect anything to move in. She always lived there. I don't think even after she died, she even left. She's still there, too.

I remember the first time I ever met her. She was sitting there on the stool next to the counter, rocking back and forth on it like a child. She apparently having a good time, because she took no real notice of me. I saw her look up from the curtain of messy red hair at me briefly, and paused- taking me in. Later I would learn she made a short list in her mind about me, and kept this in mind as long as she knew me-

1. I was insecure.

2. She liked my scarf and wanted one. In pink.

3. My camera scared the hell out of her.

She stared for a few moments, and the continued having a grand time rocking on the stool. She seemed to love the leverage, the few second of flying mid-air if it meant trying to steady herself as soon as she hit the ground. She lived for those few seconds of flying, and hated the safety the grip on the stool gave her. All she ever wanted to do was fly. No risk, no reward after all- another tiny truth from April.

So April let go, she used her body to rock the stool back and forth, and lifted her hands in the air like she was on a some sort of roller coaster. Do I sound even more pitiful then I already am if I told you I was...struck by her bravery? Throughout knowing her, I was always struck by her vague sense bravery. And her idiocy. But at times, these words are two strong synonyms.

Finally, however, I found my tongue. In fact, I was quick to find it, seeing that I knew exactly how to explain to all the little groupies that came by that they're time was up and they better get the hell out of here before Roger wakes up and kicks them out because it will be a lot less touchy-feely then the way I'm going to get rid of them. "Uhh...what are you doing?"

April paused on her stool, finally stopping her rocking. For a moment, her eyes focused completely on the cabinets and then turned to me. Her fingernail popped into her mouth, and she chewed thoughtfully on it. Her and I both knew the answer, which was somewhere along the lines of "I slept with Roger last night." She just didn't know I knew. After a moment of pondering what she should say, she pulled back on the stool, giving it a kick back. It seemed to hang in mid-air for a moment, and then she slide around. "Rockin'." She stated simply, and then happily demonstrated.

Silently, I mulled over how what appeared to be a young woman could bounce around acting like a six-year old. She pulled it off well enough though, with her bright green eyes that never stopped sparkling and her child like wonder. "I can see that." I said, rubbing the top of my forehead before plopping down in the seat beside her.

For a moment, a confused expression ran over her face, undaunted by the confused stares I was giving her from the side of my glasses. I was trying to ignore her. "Then why would you ask?"

i ...hm. Let's see...because you're in my fucking apartment. And if I wasn't as used to this as I am I would of woken up Benny and tell him to tell you get to the hell out of here because you are probably insane. Luckily for you, I know how to deal with nuts like you. Plus, I'm way to nice. /I I looked up slowly. From that moment on, any battle of wits April and I participated in; I lost. "Honestly, I have no idea why I asked." I looked up, grabbing two mugs long deserted from breakfast a few years ago. With a tired sigh that lied (because I was amused opposed to tired), I grabbed two to mugs- waving them. "Coffee?"

And so, we fixed coffee. And talked. About birds. I have never had a so interesting conversation, with let alone a stranger at the time, about being pooped on by a pigeon. I was going to be sort of sad when she left, because she certainly was a conversationalist- unconventional or not.

But to my surprised, April was greeted good-naturedly, like Roger would greet a friend. Not a forgotten toy. Apparently, he was not done with her yet.

Of course he wasn't, because where would we be if he was?

Like time through an hour glass, the days poured on.

Between that time, entered Collins... April and him hit if off pretty fast, but he was cautious of her. As an anarchist, I suppose, he loved her free nature but knew it's flaws, too. Hell, Collins loved everybody. Maybe I'm just kidding myself about his "caution."

Between that time, entered Maureen... who came in much like April did- like a whirl wind. She just came in and took everyone up with her bouncy nature, and April and her were mirror images and polar opposites in the weirdest ways. Maureen wanted attention. April wanted...I have no idea what April wanted. But she'd be the way she was when no one was looking, when no one could hear her. Another fun factlet from April was that the first sign of insanity was talking to themselves. I assured her she wasn't insane. If anyone was, it was Maureen. From experience, there is a shyer confused Maureen behind the bouncy exterior.

Between that time, entered a array of this factlets. Apparently, factlets were "odd tiny little facts" that could suddenly become relevant in a conversation because April said so. Some Examples Were: Do you know that the animal most responsible for human deaths is the mosquito? Did you know the Mona Lisa has to eyebrows? And towards the end of that blissful time, entered heroin...

Heroin was not like Collins or Maureen, who came in with happy smiles and a lot of yelling. It came in quietly- no, silently. I didn't know it was coming until it did. And that's what's scary about it, it's silence. The way it just came in and fucked up everything. But I didn't know about it. And I know about everything. Well, I make sure I do now.

As much as I hate to admit it, it was Roger first. He brought home the baggie, whispering promises about flying.

...you remember that I told you that all April ever wanted to do. All she ever wanted to do was fly.

At that point, they were friends. Perhaps friend with benefits...probably friends with benefits, but nonetheless not involved. She'd do anything to please him and he'd do anything to uncover another layer that was April. So she took the needle.

And like she never had before, April flew. No hands, No stool to protect her from hitting the ground. No risk, no reward, after all.

And for awhile, she was convinced the drugs brought her and Roger closer. She was so set on having him that she was blind to it all. Blind to how she was declining, because Roger was paying attention to her. And she was flying. She was risking life and limb to fly.

And more time passed. Why too long for April, who was growing impatient, as she often did. Every time he leave the room with out a word to her she'd ask to no one really what was wrong with her, questioning the air about how she could attract his attention. Drugs were the answer. It was a long time before April was addicted to drugs alone- for awhile, all she wanted was Roger.

She told me when he was high she was all he could see, and he was always happy when he was high. She'd laugh and talk about how the human brain connected happiness with people most of the time- how if you had a happy feeling and someone was there you would connect the people and the event.

She didn't know Roger was just as madly- almost obsessively in love with her as she was. He had suddenly picked up the habit of jovially rocking on the stool by the counter. Her energy was addictive. He'd do anything to see her fly.

And one day, finally... he asked her out on a official date. At breakfast, nonetheless, which led to me happily laughing at the pair- safely hidden behind The Village Voice, mind you.

Roger left that night for a gig, and April was attempting to pick out what she was going to wear that afternoon. She was trying to get me to pay attention, but I was too busy thinking to with my camera. The only thing I really remember is that she told me that she felt like she had won the lottery. I told her maybe she had. After a moment pause- in which time she used to chew thoughtfully on her nail- she nodded.

"Yeah, I won the lottery." She agreed, releasing her nail from her teeth and smoothing down the skirt she was trying on. "Because the lottery's everything you wanted and will ever need, right?" She looked up, smiling like a little kid again, laughing lightly. "I sound really stupid, don't I?"

I peered up from the camera. "You've sounded stupider."

And from that moment on, April lived as if she had really won. Two weeks, it lasted. Two weeks they were completely addicted to each other, wanting to make the other happy and doing anything to do so. Roger figured her out- almost every little part; And April flew.

...for two weeks, that was enough for the both of them.

But here's the thing about addiction- you crave more. April wanted to fly more; Roger wanted to know more. But these two needs, these addictions, contradicted. The more April flew, the more she became hazy to him. The more April flew, the more her original puzzle pieces distorted at their edges and could not fit back together again. For two the weeks she stayed together, there were many more that she fell apart.

I remember so clearly the first time I noticed it. April was sitting on her stool, not rocking, not smiling, just...sitting. I was making coffee, like I do every morning and she was just staring straight ahead. I didn't have to offer anymore- it was just a tacit duty of mine.

"Mark," she said softly, voice barely above a whisper.

I looked up from the coffee maker. "Yeah?" What she said sounded somewhat important, so I blinked and turned up to her. Her eyes, usually so vibrant, looked like a shade was drawn over them. Like something was covering them up...but somewhere behind them still lurked the person I knew, hidden by someone I didn't.

"I don't want coffee today."

Distracted, I turned back, pouring out one of the mugs. "Okay."

And then Roger grew frustrated with her. He couldn't fit together the pieces of the puzzle. He was stuck. He was losing, he could feel it. Both of them were slowly losing grip of the other one, and the lines blurred. What was once love was friendship, and then lust. But like the shade in April's expression, somewhere behind it still lurked what it once was. It was hidden behind the frustration, the need, the lust, the addictions. But through that mirage of problems, there still hid a little hint of love.

Or maybe, I'm optimistic.

And then right before my eyes, Roger's beloved puzzle pieces fell apart.

April came home one night while Roger was at a gig and sat down on the stool like she always did. Not a word came from her mouth, and she hardly made a sound. Like she did when I first met her, she slowly and recklessly rocked on the stool, staring blankly at the wall.

"April?"

I don't even know if she could hear me, but she flicked her head in my direction, staring right at me. "Do you know that most people who win the lottery commit suicide?" She muttered quietly, slowly lifting herself from the seat. She plopped down on the couch.

"What?" I said before I could catch myself. I shook my head, reassembling my thoughts. A factlet, of course. A glimpse at the old April. I've always been told not to look a gift horse in the mouth after all. I rubbed the back of my neck, not making the connection between April's and I's last conversation. "Why...why would someone who had a lot of money kill themselves?"

April rolled a hand through her hair, and then lightly nibbled on her finger, thinking. "Maybe," she said softly. "Maybe if things are so good for a long time, when something bad happens it just..." She paused, closing her eyes, popping out the words surely. "...hurt worse, or something." She rubbed her shoulder. "Maybe it sudden seems like all the doors are closing and they can't..." Her voice sounded stressed again, and I leaned forward, concerned. "They can't open them again."

I blinked slowly, trying to see her face. She was shying away from me, staring at the opposite wall. "April, are you okay?" She didn't answer for a long time, and different variations of the question flooded out for a long time.

When she turned back, she was shaking, attempting to choke down tears. I half hoped that maybe that maybe they would wash the shade away and they'd glimmer again. They didn't. "Yeah, Mark." She said through tears. "I'm okay."

Like a fool, I believed her. Like a fool, I didn't ask- so I didn't know why. I know why now.

Roger still tried to collect the puzzle pieces and put them back together. They had broke into too tiny of pieces, and he couldn't stand failing. He couldn't stand her being too complicated for him to understand, and he raised his voice too much and to often. She didn't fly anymore. She didn't rock on the stool like a child. She didn't smile like she used do. There were no more factlets, there was no more light in dark corners. There was no more chapters to the finished book. There was no more keys to locked doors.

Because April couldn't open her own locked doors.

She was the girl who had everything. She had the talent and the soul and the drive to make it in our little messed up world. She had the hope and the fun to entertain anyone and the levels to entrance. She was the girl who won the lottery.

...do you know that most people who win the lottery commit suicide with in the year?


End file.
